


Astronomia

by C4LIC4T



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Blowjobs, Dirkjake Week 2021, EDM - Freeform, Exhibitionism, Festivals, M/M, Porn with barely any plot, cali doesnt know how to tag anything, club, dj dirk, handjobs, instagram model jake, oh boy, secret relationship but not really, sex under theinfluence, swingers club, tags that are useless in context, uh, where do you even start tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28747041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4LIC4T/pseuds/C4LIC4T
Summary: The one where an Instagram model falls in love with an up and coming DJPlaylist for this ficHere
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29
Collections: DirkJake Big Bang 2k21





	Astronomia

You’re new to this world. Ever since you had a viral post on Instagram, people all over the world have been reaching out to you and offering to fly you across the ocean for a photoshoot here, a commercial there. The money went from nonexistent, to steady. Even your little sister is bewildered by the sudden boom of popularity. 

Your remote island home lets you share things from the world you live in. The flora, the fauna, and more importantly, yourself interacting with them. What caught the internet's attention? A short video where you’re splitting wood for the winter in the snow. Your little sister would throw a round of wood to you, and you kicked it upright and split it with an axe. Sweep the split wood aside, and Jade can throw another round. The two of you usually sing while you work, and with over a million views, you could say it was pretty popular. You don’t think you’re much special, just showing off some of the everyday chores (at least the ones that you can make look good) and how life can be on your little island in the pacific. 

Jade’s farming lends you opportunities to show off the greenhouse, and her brilliance lends you the opportunities to do nothing but explore your island and talk to your friends. You spend time on the island's cliffs, sharing the flash of light as the sun sinks into the ocean. It’s a good feeling to see your numbers climb. Photos of the outside of the ruins spark interest and the fields of unruly pumpkins. You spend more time than you used to doctoring how you look. Jade spends time with you while you braid her hair. You take up yoga, sharing photos of you with the ocean spanning almost all the way around you. The opinion of the internet starts to take up a lot more of your brain space than you think you’d like. Taking breaks became harder to do, but then the travel deals started up. You’ve been almost all the way around the globe, with room to spare. You stayed for a week in Ireland, then a weekend in Japan. The last few weeks you’ve been part of the group of Instagram “influencers” they call themselves. You’re not sure what you’re influencing, you just want to share your life with others! Several weeks of planning and whispered details, and you were in on the deal.

This trip started out as a business deal. You’d come to the club and take a few pictures with the other featured creators and enjoy yourself for a few nights on their tab. The plush leather seat you’re partially reclined in as the flight attendants mill about the cabin is just a bonus. You have a glass of champagne perched on the tray in front of you. Five and a half hours later, you’re touched down in Portland. The ride to the hotel is uneventful and when you check in, there’s a suite on the top floor waiting for you. When you push the door open the tile walls blend into a fireplace and a huge sprawling bed. The full wall windows boast a view of the river with thin curtains softening the light. For once the sun is actually out on the coast and bathes the room in bright, warm light. There’s a folder on the desk against the window, but getting settled in and enjoying the gifts left at your feet is your top priority. 

With time to spare before your club event, you hit the street. The buildings stretch high like unfamiliar forest, and the business of the city buries your self imposed “fame”. It feels kind of nice to just roam around and be regular old Jake English, not golgothasTerror: Instagram influencer.

The sun sinks over the city, and you’re at the edge of the water with a cheap burger in hand. Your heart is beating nervously as you check your feeds again. There’s a whole group of you going to this club, but in your haste, you certainly hadn’t checked into it much. There’s not a whole lot of info online either, but there’s thousands of five star reviews. When one of the other influencers sends you the website, and you end up with a lot of questions. Out of everything there though, it’s the dress code is what throws you for a loop.

[Men must not wear shorts unless on theme for a party. Men must remain fully clothed unless they are in the middle of a sex act ]

You knew this was an upscale club, just based on the package you received as an influencer. What you hadn’t realized is how much you’ve gotten yourself into. The group chat is buzzing away and you make it back into your hotel room with a burn in your cheeks. The folder on your desk lines out some rules, that there will be a short time allowed at the beginning to take photos together, but mostly the purpose is to give everyone some time off camera to enjoy themselves and take some memories out the door to talk about. There’s a list of influencers that will be attending, and you don’t find your own name until nearly the bottom of the page. There’s a lot of names you recognize and more that you don’t. The dj is listed as an influencer too, though you’re sure he’s already much better known than you are. You pull up his feed.

His page is fairly empty, for the amount of followers he has. Not only are there no actual photos of him on his feed, the graphics all have the same signature black anime glasses stamped in the middle of them. There’s a few promo pieces in there where his apparent logo isn’t dead center, but he sure doesn’t seem to post much. The tagged photos are what get you. 

There are half a dozen photos that actually have a dj in them, with pretty Instagram girls perched on the stage beneath him. Most of the photos he looks stone faced, sometimes back to back with another blonde who’s actively mixing. They look almost like they could be brothers, but there’s only a couple photos of them together. The vast majority are staged up in clubs and festivals. There’s one that stands out though, and it’s a photo of the taller of the two blondes standing on the table with a microphone, and the other with his hands up in the background as fire shoots from the stage behind them. You wonder why he hasn’t posted more photos like that. In fact you can’t seem to find many other pictures of his face at all. 

You meet up with a few of the girls from your Insta group and they fuss you over head to toe until you’re dressed, photographed and featured all the way across your room. When you arrive by car, there’s already a crowd at the doors. The tall white cement building stretches upwards, the blue and purple lights outlining the columns leaving a sleazy club look far out in your imagination. The building is at least four stories high, and it wouldn’t surprise you if it had a basement too. The girls pile out before you, met with a few cell phone flashes and one professional grade flash that bathes them in daylight, with you in the background, probably looking as confused as you feel. When you cut the threshold of the club, you can feel the thrum of the bass in your feet, the muffled bass driving your anxiety up to a new level. You get sorted off and sign the waivers and paperwork. The rules are read back to you again, this time with a pointed nod at the brick walls employed as security guards. The hall splits off to the locker rooms, leaving you with a dark wood floor spread out in front of you, there’s a wide bar to the side of the room that you’re grateful to see. Its blue under glow casting soft shadows in the dimly lit room. You can see where there’s someone setting up music equipment, but it looks like he’s about done. The dj at the stage is still running his music at a fairly low volume, as far as nightclubs go. It makes you think of your high school dances with how nervous you are. 

There’s someone up on top of the light rig, adjusting another light carefully. The warmth of the led bank swirling through graphics is bathing the dim light in festival vibes. Clothing disregarded, you feel almost like you’re somewhere forbidden, like this place is designed and made for someone who isn’t you. The dress code may be high class, but the platformed poles and a cage to the back of the room tells you otherwise. You can see the second floor balcony from here, and the people along the edges are looking down at you and smiling as the floor begins to fill. 

You catch the flash of the cameras outside, and are nearly mowed over by the fella pushing in the door, a smile wide across his face. As soon as he sees you, his face drains and his burst of energy smoothly crawls to a stop. You glance him over, vest fit over a button up shirt doing his figure every favor on the planet. His face feels familiar, but he could almost be someone on the extensive list of people coming to this that he happened to glance at their profile. He gives your bewildered face a glance over, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk.

“First timer huh?” His voice sweeps you off your feet with a much thicker southern drawl than you’d expect from someone that looks, well, like him, “You’re in for a good one.” 

He tips his head as if he were wearing a hat and disappears into the shadows of the back wall, the glint of silver poles at the very back of the space catching your attention. You had no clue what you were getting into before you came, and now that you’re here, your anxiety has anxiety.

You find yourself sitting at the bar with a too expensive whiskey over ice in your palm as the bass bounces it in your glass. The beat is running your heartbeat and you can’t help but feel more tense than you should be. When the same fella from earlier crosses your path, he’s got anime shades over his eyes and something bright orange to drink in his hand. You know who he is now, Strider. He laughs at you over the music, and gives you a first name. With the music, you mishear him the first time, and the snicker of laughter as he serves a corny line about you being forward for an old fashioned looking fucker. For the first time in a bit, you don’t feel like downing your whole rocks glass of whiskey all in one shot. 

When someone taps on his shoulder, he passes you off, spinning off his heel way too gracefully and flashing you a peace sign and a crooked smile as he disappears into the dance floor. After a shot and two short songs there’s an alert sound over the speakers, and they try to organize everyone here to get a picture. You’re one of the last ones to get to the front, and someone shoves you up on the stage. Dirk snags your shoulder and whisks you to the front. He pats the carpeted box for you to sit on.

“Try and look like you’re having fun for the pictures and for the video that follows dude, you look like you haven’t done anything but stress since you got here. You’re hot, there’s lots of people here to choose from. Lighten up.” His words crawl over your skin like smoke and honey. You do as you’re told. 

The box thuds softly and you realize now that he’s standing behind you, his knee pressed against your back for just a second. His fingers graze the top of your head and when you look up he pushes his pointed shades over your eyes. The notion of wearing his silly shades breaking a smile across your face. You’re definitely a little past being buzzed, and seeing as Dirk is standing on the speaker you’re on, it’s probably fine to tuck a leg up under yourself. After a couple minutes, everyone is arranged more or less and there’s a professional camera setup that gets at least half a dozen shots, before the owner lets the formation break up into smaller groups. 

Dirk drops down to sit next to you, and you have to laugh, now that the worst of your pressure is up and over. You go to carefully hand him his shades, and find that he is, in fact, still wearing shades. 

“Nah, keep 'em. I always got a few extra pairs. You looked like you needed something to hide behind as much as anyone here.” His chin is resting on the single knee that’s popped up on the speaker. Your face heats a little bit in embarrassment. His shades end up on the top of your head like a headband. Hopefully he truly meant you could take them, so you have a memento outside of photos.

“Seems like you know the gig here, Dirk. What’s your connection to this, er, scene?” You’re still bewildered with everything going on here.

“My brother and I do a lot of events, I just picked this one up to give us some space apart so the tour isn’t totally hell.” He takes a long drink out of his cup, then tips it towards you. “Wanna try it?”

You take it cautiously, taking a sip, finding your mouth hit with a splash of what tastes like orange pixie sticks. You give Dirk some side eye, and he laughs at you. He takes his drink back and takes a long drink out of it. Part of you wonders if there’s even alcohol in that. You say as much and he tells you what it is. After rattling off the 4 shots of tequila and 2 shots of vodka, you wave him off. There’s no way in hell something that sweet has that much alcohol in it. He flags down the bartender and orders another one, pushing his into your hand. You chase the rest of your whiskey with a sip of whatever really is in a Dreamsicle Margarita. 

He talks you through a mini tour, and by the end of it, you’ve finished off your drink. Two flights of stairs and you’re looking out of a third story window at the river. The music is still loud up here, but the floor is quieter. Dirk still has a bit left in his glass and when he’s looking at someone else you steal it from his hand. There’s a ghost of emotion across his features, and he puts his hand over yours on the glass. 

“If you wanted to swap spit, English, all you had to do was ask.” You can feel your ears start to burn a little bit more, but the twist of anxiety is dancing in your guts. 

“You never offered.” You return with more bravery in your voice than you were accounting for. Dirk’s eyebrow climbs over the edge of his shades. There’s a misfire in your chest when he visibly gives you a once over. The pause between your voice and Dirk’s careful consideration sends another spike of anxiety through you. When his shades slip down his nose, his eyes look hungry and that in itself lights a fire in you. His phone buzzes audibly on the counter of the bar, and it snaps his attention off you. 

“Shit, I’m running the set for the video. You should come downstairs and try and enjoy yourself. If you’re feeling brave after, come find me.” He brushes his fingers along your jaw and you traitorously lean forward, into his touch. There’s a genuine smile curving his lips upwards and he leans in and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your mouth. Orange is all you can taste and your core is full of birds trying to escape. Holy hell, if that’s what he can do with a quick kiss you can only imagine what effort would feel like. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. You make your way back down the stairs, landing yourself at the very back of the dancefloor. Dirk is setting up with the other DJ, getting ready for a switch over, you would guess. Sipping carefully at what’s left of Dirk’s drink, you prop yourself against an open table so you can sit out of the spotlight and watch. The lights dim to almost completely dark, and the front of the stage flickers to life with a staticky tv screen. 

Out of the static, Strider's pointy shades logo becomes clear. The edges shudder and glitch, and two lights appear in the middle of the lenses. They blink like eyes, and a modulated voice reads out to the suddenly quiet dance floor. You can see the small drone with a go-pro zoom by you only to settle just above eye level to catch the light show as if someone were there. 

[Welcome. To. The. Game. Please keep the rules in mind. Relax. Have some fun. The cameras must be off by the Thirty Minute Mark. Starting Now.]

A countdown pops up on a smaller screen mounted well above the dance floor over a black and white swirl. You watch the drone pick its way through the quiet crowd to the front. The red and orange lights flicker to all orange, including the eyes on the screen at the base of the stage.

[Now. Get. Ready. To. Roll]

The lights get dim again, this time blue LEDs sparking light in the dark like lightning in a thundercloud. You’re a bit starstruck already. The slowly increasing tempo of electronic melody is following Dirk’s hand on a light up pad behind a bank of buttons. You can just see from here. The volume gets to be loud enough you lose some of your thoughts in it. The flickering of lights gets brighter as more systems get incorporated into the light show. There’s almost a drop, and then a short pause and a familiar melody comes out of it. The bassline that flows over the top of something you recognize draws you in. There’s already people clustering around the stage as Dirk works. When the line drops, the whole floor goes nuts, people jumping and swaying. After just a few seconds there’s a vocal note stuttering and rising into another familiar melody. The lights flood the floor orange, and you can see lots of people you recognize screaming lyrics along. 

Part of you is glad you’re at the back of the room. The modulated voice occasionally chants out instructions to the floor. You can’t feel anything in your chest anymore, none of the familiar stab of anxiety, as the bass makes your bones shake and move with. The music goes for a long while, and when the light show slows to a simple drum beat that winds down. 

You don’t last long here at the back. One of the girls from your ride here snags your hand and drags you into the crowd. Nobody makes a fuss when you squeeze into the living ocean of people on the floor. For a short while you’re up by the stage. There’s a hand on your shoulder pushing you up and when a camera is in your face, you perch yourself on the narrow ledge below the lit screen with the Striders logo faintly glowing behind you. The quick flip of your phone to the nearest gal and you offer up a wide smile, remembering you have shades crammed into your hair. Hopefully one of the pictures is catching the glow of the screen on them. When you get your phone back, you take a selfie from the stage, you catch Dirk paused in his mixing as he lets the middle ground of a song play out, a peace sign and a smile on his face. It’s going to do so well on your page. You can upgrade Jade’s equipment back home after you post this. You hope. The modulated voice rises above the music like a champagne bubble, popping as the base line pauses abruptly. 

[Game. Over. Time. To. Party.]

The stage screen switches over from simple black and orange to a blue screen of death and then bright red taking over the glasses, with orange soda cans raining in the background. The eyes blink orange a couple of times, and then turn into orange spirals that drain into the visuals. Bright green spirals make their way back out instead. The guitar gets louder and the bass heavier. The lights and lasers pick up to the beat, and the sudden white out that drenches the whole floor in light, then settles back into hypnotizing patterns. You can see that at least one of the girls you arrived with has, er, misplaced her top and the people around you are getting a lot closer than they had been. The tv screen up high that showed off the timer for the camera is counted down to a glitchy zero. It brings you a little bit of peace, knowing you’re not on camera anymore. Everything that happens from here forward is only stored in the memories that people have, not on camera, not on the internet. You shove your phone in your pocket, freeing up your hands and you can see several others do the same.

You take a deep breath and push yourself further into the dance floor. You’re a little bit dizzy and definitely drunk, but the music is holding you up with the same buoyancy as if you’re floating in the ocean. The waves of bass gifting you a mini high as you scream the lyrics you know at the top of your lungs. You manage to get back close to the stage, pushed there like blood through a vein, with the heartbeat of the music. The light casting from Dirks equipment highlights his face beautifully, and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you have absolutely no thoughts in your head right now, only music and a newfound appreciation for the DJ you're more than willing to watch the lightshow reflect off of. His shades are reflecting his hand movements as he mixes some parts of his show live and his energy bleeds into the crowd as he hypes them up. There’s hands brushing over your body as people dance and you get bumped into more than once by model pretty girls wearing less clothes than they arrived in. 

You’re unashamed in looking at them, but you can’t find it in you to join them. Sure, you dance a bit here and there, and you know the tie around your neck is gone somewhere. The top couple of buttons are undone on your dark green button up and the heat radiating from the crowd is making you wish you could just take it off. Dirk’s carefully styled hair is getting messy as he pulls half his headphones up to check something and he nods along for a second as he blends two songs into each other. You don’t know how long it’s been, dancing and bouncing off the other people crammed on the dance floor. What you do know is the transition between what you’re recognizing as Dirk’s style blends into typical club music almost seamlessly, and the lights reflect the change in a fade out too. The shades disappear from the visuals and the bass lines aren’t as unique. You can see Dirk at the back of the stage now, and you squeeze yourself out of the crowd as it loosens up. He’s chugging a bottle of water, and from here you can see the soft glint of his skin under a particularly light flash. He’s laughing and when he sees you, he winks over his shades. It just about stops your heart. 

He hops down off the stage and is flocked with a few girls that seem to be hanging off his arms and force feeding him compliments painted with drunken swaths of flirting. He brushes them off though, disappearing before you can get to him. A glance over his tables and you catch the bra slung over the screen of his laptop and what you’re hoping isn’t panties dangling dangerously from a plugged in cable. 

You decide now is as good a time as any to get another drink, since your dizzy buzz has long since worn thin. There’s a shot of tequila in you before Dirk slides into the stool next to you. He looks breathless still, and the slap across the sexuality you get from seeing him with his shades up again leaves you just as breathless. Hello? Earth to Jake? You do, in fact, need to keep breathing. The smile on your face feels lopsided and Dirk is smiling at you and that brings back the buzzing in your chest faster than the alcohol. One of your girls reaches past you and then shoves a glass in your hand, another into Dirk’s. Another blended drink, with a swirl of cream on the top with a strawberry and a straw. She’s fawning over Dirk and he leans in close to her ear and says something that sends her off in a hurry. He’s laughing, so you’re laughing. The sweet and tang of the drink is sharp on your tongue but swallows smooth, leaving that sugary aftertaste. Dirk’s hand is on your thigh for just a second, fingers smoothing a wrinkle in your slacks. 

He pulls you forward with a strong hand, and you follow his lead as he moves along the edge of the room. Around the dancefloor, into the back where it’s less crowded. You can’t get over how quickly the club went from festival style dancing to people stripping down to cage each other against the wall. Some of the crowd has disappeared, but there’s no guessing where they are. Once you’re out of the immediate range of the speakers, you can hear moaning faintly, back by where the stairs are. It doesn’t bother you the way that it would have earlier in the night. Dirk is talking, and you can’t make yourself follow what he’s saying outside of being excited about how his set went. You’re following him up the stairs, and there’s a part of you that just wants to grab a hold of him right then and there. A voice in your head interrupts with “no sex on the stairs” from the rules earlier and you keep your hands to yourself for now. 

When you get to the third floor, the bar is open but Dirk opts for the couch against the back wall. It’s a lot quieter up here, and you sink into the faux leather with a chuckle. You’re pressed against him, your thighs touching slightly . There's a smile smoothing over his features and his hand catches the curve of muscle along the inside of your thigh. Dirk leans forward and sets his drink down on the low table just out of kicking distance. 

Your heart is fluttering in your chest with the kind of adrenaline you'd thought your drinking would curb. When his fingers smooth the wrinkles in your slacks your heart skips a beat. The bass is thrumming against your chest and the drums are filling the spaces in your head usually full of your worries and responsibilities. Dirk catches your jaw softly and you subconsciously lean into his touch. The smile that crawls into his features lights a bit of a fire in you. Your drink finds itself on the table alongside his. There's a moment of hesitation, but when you turn to face Dirk more fully, you fold your leg underneath you. The kiss that follows is soft and gentle. 

His hands are heavenly as they thread themselves into your hair, leaving you gasping for breath. As the song fades and smooths into another, Dirk pulls back just a little. His hand on your thigh is gripping snugly, leaving little puddles of silky slacks gathered under his fingertips. You can't help but eat up the adrenaline. The rush you get from being wanted. 

"Hey, you alright?" Dirk checks in, pushing his shades back into his hair to match the ones atop your head. You nod, swallowing thickly. 

"I'm great, actually." Your voice feels sticky, almost. Must be all the sugar in your drink, or the ragged breathing. Probably the sugar. 

"I see. Did you, uh, want to take this to a room or are you into being out here?" This time it's his voice that seems out of place, his Texan drawl making him sound more polite than he's being. 

"Your call, I suppose, Strider. I'm here because of my body, may as well make a show of it, if you wanted to, that is." Put the ball back in his court, for lack of better words. You take the time to collect yourself some. Easy does it, English. You've not got a horse in the race yet. 

Dirk shrugs a little bit, shuffling his hands over where you're assuming his vest has pockets on the inside. When he sighs and puts his weight back on your thigh, you instantly feel like it belongs there. You find your hands catching his face. You revel in how soft his skin is under your palm before you kiss him. His mouth is hungry against yours, and you lose track of the seconds, the breaths, for a bit. One hand is still on your thigh, fingers dug in right at bruising. The other is against the back of your neck, pulling you in. When he breaks away, the flustered pink you can just see brushing his freckled cheeks sends a hot rush to your own face. You aren't really sure how far he wants to take this, but you think you'd do anything he asked right now. 

With a breath between you, he brushes his hand upwards just a bit, the silky material over your legs sending shivers up your spine. He takes a palm and shoves it against your chest. It pins your back against the leather of the couch, and he swings a leg over your lap and settles comfortably. The weight against your lap and the gentle grip of his thighs against your hips paired with the heavy heat of the atmosphere is bringing your walls down brick by brick. You're burning up in more ways than one, and looking up to see Dirk’s eyes burning into yours brings a stupid smile to your face. His hands bury themselves in your hair, gently. Nails streak from your temple over the crown of your skull and settle towards the back where you start to give to the pressure. 

He kisses you once on the mouth, then presses onwards. His lips leave chaste kisses along your cheek, dipping to your jaw. One hand stays in your hair to hold you still, the other pressed into your chest. His mouth finds the joining of your jaw and neck, teeth grazing the skin there. The slight bristle of your stubble under his mouth is like gasoline to a fire. Your hands find themselves heavy on his waist, feeling the smooth rise of his hip bones under your thumbs. Another sharp bite at your shoulder brings your attention back to what he's doing to you. 

"Ah, you can mark me up if you like- no shame in it." Before you can fully finish your words his teeth are on the side of your neck again. This time, your skin expertly pulled into his mouth. The familiar sting of a hickey makes you groan softly. The breath against your skin is cool and welcome. Dirk sits back just a little bit, into your hands, and picks at the buttons on your shirt. 

It's the perfect opportunity to get a full handful of Strider. You catch the slight hitch in his breath and roll your thumb into the muscle. His hips rise slightly and you don't miss the smile on your face. Light passes over the couch in passing, and you're vaguely aware that you're still sort of at a club. A club designed for this purpose, but a club nonetheless. 

The wave of blue over his face makes his warm tones feel more like a dream. You dig your fingers in. The hand on your chest moves upwards, his fingers brushing the sides of your throat. It’s more than tempting to lean into them. Dirk’s thumb smooths over the dip in your throat where you’re sure he can feel the heavy bass of your heartbeat. He strikes you breathless with the gentle stroke of his hands coming to cup your jaw. Your hands smooth their way to his waist again, taking in the smooth transition from bone to soft skinned muscle.

He kisses you, then laughs a little bit. It takes a second for him to figure out his legs and you're suddenly very aware of the growing erection you've got going on. Your face flushes when he stands up. Dirk is only up for a second, his legs folding under him again as he kneels in front of you. When he starts at your knee with his hands and smooths them upwards, fingers skating over the silky fabric and causing it to bunch up under the attention. You’re well aware that he’s leading up to something, now. You can't help but bury your fingers in his hair, careful not to pull. 

Usually your hookups at a party are messy, quick, hollow. Already, Dirk has taken his time more with you than the other way around. It's a nice change of pace. He’s taking a moment to let you breathe, and you curl to cage him in with your arms. He tips his head up and you kiss him. He’s leaning into your kiss, and you melt into him some. There’s a heady high of alcohol and whatever knot of emotions are swirling around with what’s left of an orange dreamsicle margarita. The usual disconnect between whoever’s between your legs at the end of a party and yourself is falling apart, and you can’t help but attach the thought of ‘maybe he actually does care’ to the attention he’s given to you. 

His hair cards through your fingers when he dips, and his mouth is warm against your thigh. He pushes your arms up and out of the way, fingers quick to unbuckle your belt and shuffle the buttons into an undone position. His eyes are up on you with a brief pause. He tips his head like a question, and you don’t think you could hear if he asked you something now over the music. You nod. The fingers on your waist dip below your waist band and tug lightly. 

You oblige. Pressing your heels down into the floor to arch your back slightly. Dirk moves smoothly to slip the whole ordeal of pants and boxers to the middle of your thigh and the warm leather is somewhat comforting to sink back into. His arms hook around your thighs and coax you forward until your ass is just barely on the sofa, an arm thrown back to support your weight. With another quick glance up at you, which you return with a slightly worried nod, he dips into your crotch and veers off to the side. His tongue is on your thigh in a smooth motion, leaving a trail of wet that grows cold in the air despite it being quite warm. The fingers in your thigh are digging in and occasionally the brush of his fingernails chattering across your skin makes your breath catch. 

By the time he’s done playing with your legs, you’re harder than you care to admit. Heart pounding in your chest like a horse coming down home stretch in one of those run of the mill horse movies. That is to say, hard and fast. The crowd on the sidelines cheers and the snobby girl from the other barn is scowling as you-

His mouth sinks over the tip and you lose all coherent thought for a moment. You can’t help the noise that slips from your lips and you cram a knuckle in your mouth. Dirk’s mouth is wicked. His tongue is trapped beneath your cock, but what little room you’ve afforded him in that department he’s using to spur you onwards. You can’t hold yourself up on a shaky arm for much longer and you sink into the sofa with a sigh. Dirk uses this to shuffle your hips to an easier spot for himself. There’s a gap in his attention and you have to grit your teeth, nearing drawing blood, to keep from making a needy sound. 

When Dirk’s mouth returns -- warm, wet, obscenely good at this -- swirling his tongue over the blunt tip. The heat of his mouth is the best you’ve ever felt. Your pleasure drunk brain is sure of it. His blonde hair buries itself to the dark curls between your legs. His throat is creating pressure on all sides, and you can't help but shudder and you’re suddenly looking at the ceiling. You’re trying to get enough air into your lungs without making too much of a racket. The anonymous attention on you from the crowd pitches your noises higher as a familiar stirring settles into your pelvis. You’re not going to last as long as you were hoping. The music is still thrumming and your heartbeat is in your ears. Endorphins flood your brain when the smooth metal of his tongue ring hits your glans. That along with Dirk’s fingers kneading greedy circles into your ass is making you care less about decorum and any remaining anxieties you had about being in public. 

Your body is restless, Dirk’s practiced tongue running you like a middle school gym teacher. A knuckle between your teeth isn’t doing anything for you anymore, and your fingers grapple uselessly at the couch you’re perched on. A distant part of your mind is worried that you’ll choke him, but he doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon. 

When you’re as deep into his throat as your anatomy allows, his eyes flick up, unwavering. They strike you like sunlight through a brown bottle. Warm and full of a depth you didn’t think you could find in someone who's swallowed your dick to the hilt and still is managing to work his tongue against the base. Your hands find themselves in his hair, careful not to pull. His eyes don’t break contact and your voice finally breaks into the pitched, desperate. You think part of you is more turned on by the casual attention of the crowd, but in the end it’s the skill of the man between your thighs. The spring in your pelvis coils tighter and you catch your fingers getting tight in Dirk’s hair. He pushes both hands into the meat of your thigh and you catch him carefully flicking his tongue across the tip as you cum. You’re painting stripes into his mouth and he carefully lets it drip across his tongue and from his lips. Part of you can hazily think about wanting a picture. 

He waits until you’re completely spent before he closes his mouth and swallows. He does it easily like it’s nothing new. Part of you is surprised, the rest of you is still riding out the high you’ve gotten from the whole ordeal. Dirk cleans you up, careful not to overstimulate. You feel like you’ve just run a race yourself, and holy hell is he a pretty picture. You catch his jaw in your hand, suddenly a little bit more aware of the situation you just put yourself into here. There’s a moment of hesitation before you curl forward, using the hand at his jaw to guide him into a chaste kiss. There’s a rush of heat that comes over you when he sucks a breath through his teeth as you tighten your fingers a little bit to hold him in place. 

You pause to take a breath, and in a moment of ‘oh that’s right there’s people here’ you let him go. You wiggle into your pants and pat the couch beside you. He did a splendid job of making sure there wasn’t a mess to follow you. His eyes catch yours with a level of suspicion. You’re not entirely sure where you’re going with this. Until, well, tonight, your party hookups had been almost exclusively female and here he was looking like a right pornstar. 

“Mind if I uh-” you start, letting your eyes sweep over him. He flushes some, even visible in the low light. It’s him who moves first, shuffling to sit sideways on the couch. You fit yourself over him, straddling his thighs and hooking your feet under his knees. It’s surprisingly more comfortable than you thought it’d be. 

You lean down and kiss him again, this time pulling his lower lip between your teeth. The soft hitch of his breath and the pounding heartbeat beneath your fingers on his neck, you’ve decided, are two things you’d like to keep in your memory forever. Dirk’s kisses start off gentle, a caress across your own. They grow hungrier though, his hands looping over your neck and his fingers latching into your hair at the back. You’re definitely not as worked up as before, but you can’t help but to notice the soft needy sounds that tumble from his lips. You’re gathering them in your mind, building a small collection of things you hope you never forget. A dip to tend to his neck, and his breath is in your ear. You’re faintly aware of your hips slipping across his and finding him harder than you expected. Was he really so close without being touched? You shift back slightly, pinning his thighs beneath you more completely. He’s breathing hard, and there's a moment where you can’t help but to eat up how he looks under you. There’s a smolder to his eyes that makes you blush. The tightness to his dress pants is because of you, for you even. You got him like this by kissing him and letting him get you off. It’s only fair that you return the favor. 

“Can I?” You trail off again, your hand resting at his waist, where his shirt and vest have come askew. 

“Jake I swear to god, I’m good with it. Please just.. Keep going?” His voice pitches at the end, and you can barely hear him over the music. The back of the couch is to the majority of the crowd, although there are people off to the side that you’re sure can see into the little bubble of privacy you’ve created with the crooked table and all. You can feel a little bit of mischief in your veins as you slowly push his shirt up, hands spanning over his smooth skin with ease. He’s fit but narrower than you thought he’d be. You can almost imagine taking both hands and fitting them around his waist like a belt. He’s breathing hard still and you push your weight into him a little to lean down for a kiss. Dirk grabs at you hard, his fingernails making streaks across the back of your neck when you finally break off. Your lips are sure to be swollen. 

When you sit back again, you make sure you’re square on his thighs. He’s watching you with an intensity you didn’t expect and part of you is unsure what you’re doing. You smooth your hands over him one more time before you carefully pick apart the belt and button of his pants, marveling in how smoothly they fold away. You pick yourself up just enough to wiggle his pants down to your thighs. It doesn’t give you much room but it gives you enough to expose the most important parts. You leave his underwear where they’re at though. It’s still processing in your mind that he’s hard for you, because of you. You settle your hand over his erection, and you can feel it getting bigger under your hand. It’s kind of-- flattering. Flattered isn’t the word for what you’re feeling, it’s more nervous but excited. He’s watching you expectantly and part of you wishes he wasn’t. 

His eyes are hard to escape, and you tug down the elastic of his underwear until you’ve exposed the blunt tip of his erection. You spend longer than you care to admit folding his briefs down to expose him fully. You don’t miss the deep measured breaths he’s taking or the way his thighs twitch under your legs. He’s a bit smaller than you, but not by much and you spend a little bit of time noting the details. Taking images in your mind. You flatten your palms against his hips, digging your fingers into him with slow measured circles, remembering how nice that felt when he did something similar to you. When you’ve gathered up the gumption to jump into it, you wrap your fingers around his shaft and experimentally press your thumb into it. He surprises you by pushing up into your grip with a breathy sound. 

“Oh, wow..” you manage, just now getting it in your head how far along he is. 

“Hhaaah, sorry” he breathes, his jaw flexing as he grits his teeth. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure, smoothing your free hand over his stomach. It briefly crosses your mind that he might be hamming it up some, though you don’t think that would be something he would do. “You’re really into this.” 

He grits his teeth when you push both thumbs into him, legs shifting restlessly. You press your thumb just beneath the glans, rubbing a small firm circle and he hums wordlessly, hands fisting at the smooth surface of the couch. 

“I’m not going to make it long if you keep that up, come on.” He’s breathless and a mischievous smile eats up your features.

“Oh, is that so?” You know even if he couldn’t see you, he could hear the cheeky smile in your voice. He returns the sentiment with a string of curses. You can feel a pleasant buzz returning to your head, the breathless, needy sounds he’s trying to strangle going straight to your ego. He flexes hard under you when you push one thumb up to smear a bit of his precum over the tip. His chest rises and falls like a runner in a marathon. You take your hand away for a moment, thinking that maybe it would feel better if you wet your thumb more. As soon as you do though, his voice comes out in the lull between songs, begging softly. 

His legs shake when you return your attention to him, this time keeping your thumbs light and slow. His noises are some you’ve got a notion to think you’re falling in love with- pitched and honest like he’s genuinely trying to keep quiet but can’t help himself. He’s arching into your hand a moment later, spilling over his stomach. He really is a pretty picture laid out in front of you. The arch in his back flattens as he relaxes and you’re lost for a minute as to what you’re meant to be doing. You catch the towel on the coffee table out of the corner of your eye. Someone must have slipped that there while you were otherwise occupied. The thought makes you flush in embarrassment, though you’ll have to admit it to yourself later. 

You carefully clean Dirk up and when he pats your thigh, you move off of him obligingly. The aftermath is awkward, but not as bad as you thought it might be. He seems to be at least a little bit practiced at this, hands sweeping his hair back until it looks almost the way he had it before. For as soft as it was between your fingers, it returns to its styled shape with little effort from him. It strikes you that you probably look a mess. You shuffle your clothes a bit, trying to look at least a little bit put together. 

When Dirk finally looks over your way again, you shoot him a nervous set of finger guns and the smile that cracks the cool façade sends a wave of warmth over you like the tide on the beach. He picks up his drink from the table and takes a deep swallow. You’d completely forgotten about them. Somewhere from below, the bass rumbles the floor. The DJ upstairs is playing at a much lower volume than downstairs, his purpose probably mostly to cover the noises of the people occupying the curtained rooms all the way around the lounge. 

Dirk finishes off his drink, leaving the glass on the table. He fishes around in the pocket of his vest for a second, and produces what looks like a business card. He rifles around a bit more and produces a sharpie from god knows where. You’d think you’d have felt that in all the feeling up you did, but apparently not. He scribbles out the number on the front and writes a number on the back over the top of his logo. The silver glints in the changing light as he writes, then tucks the card under your margarita glass on the table. 

“I’ve gotta get back to work,” he drawls softly, still sounding a bit tipsy, “But thanks for the good time. Text me, call me, or not.”

He leaves you with that, straightening his vest as he stands up. He leans down for a second, hand soft on your jaw and a flash of surprise hits his features when you lean into it. You’re surprised when he places a chaste kiss on your mouth and you’re left with the taste of orange cream on your lips as he hops over the back of the couch with a practiced ease and disappears out of sight. You slip the card into your pocket and put the pointy shades back on the top of your head. 

You go through the rest of the night in a bit of a daze and get back to the hotel with a sense of euphoria you haven’t felt in a while. You crash land in the bed and wake up feeling a little more than hungover. There’s a sense of duty going through your morning routine. You text Jade with a brief summary of your night, excluding a lot of details but telling her it went well and you think you may have made a friend. She chastises you for not making more, in a teasing manner, and sends you pictures of dishes in the sink she swears are going to be waiting for you when you get home. 

In the end, it takes three days and a six hour flight for you to get up the nerve to text Dirk again. You had days where an unfinished text sat in your drafts. Worked and reworked time and time again, trying to come up with the right words to say to someone with a lot more going on than you. There’s a quick apology, followed up with a casual but friendly greeting, you think. You end up throwing your phone across the room after you get the gumption to hit send. For now you try and get into the intricacies of carnivorous animals in Asia on TV.

There’s about fifteen minutes before your phone pings at you, sending a jolt into your guts. Your TV show is momentarily forgotten as you read over Dirk’s response. He’s laughing at you for your apology. Three days isn’t bad he says, and here you were thinking it was too long to text him. You spend a while texting back and forth, conversation coming a bit easier after the initial messages. 

The promotion works wonders for your numbers, and you get to fill a few rows of your feed with candid photos and of course the group photos. For the first time, Dirk posts a picture of himself on his feed. It’s one you sent him, the selfie from the stage in the middle of his set. His easy smile sends jitters through your heart every time you see it. The shades that Dirk gave you are perched on your nightstand for quite a while, gathering a thin layer of dust before you clip them up with some polaroids Jade has taken around the island. After that, life mostly returns to normal. You go about your business on the island and occasionally take a trip to explore more of the planet. Ibiza, London, LA, and Vegas. 

You don’t see Dirk again until you land yourself at a festival in the middle of the desert somewhere in Nevada. You’ve been following his tour with his brother online and it’s been nearly impossible to get into any of his shows. When he finds out you got in, you suddenly have a VIP package. This time you mostly spend time in the trailer in the back, listening to their manager boss them around in an impossibly gruff voice and berate his brother for apparently being out of his mind more often than not. The brothers do two sets that night, one early on while the desert is still hot and dry, the sun baking the orange and pink of the sunset into the sunglasses that crop up in the crowd like the plague. Between sets, though, you and Dirk disappear into the crowd. He ditches his shades and can go mostly unnoticed. Every time you catch a glimpse of him your heart flutters. There’s an occasional moment where you catch him watching you or smiling after you say something unexpected. 

When you end up in the crowd again, this time watching Dirk and his brother perform, the energy in the crowd makes your heart swell. You get some time in the sea of people screaming lyrics as he mixes back to back, the bass filling your body again. Of course, it’s not a party without a little fun. When Dirk is broken free of his obligations, there’s a stolen kiss here and there. You spend the rest of the night listening to other sets, floating between, your heart like a kite on a string and you think maybe that’s just what love feels like. When you get to your hotel after a day in the desert, you wash the dirt out of your skin and find that glitter is harder to get out of your hair than it’s worth. 

Day two is something similar. You know you clean up well. This time you call Dirk out, personally. You caption your photo @therealdirkstrider Seems like my hand has been forced. Would I be suitable as a date this weekend? #boyfriends #ihope

The comments are nuts, and the lack of response from Dirk has you worried, until you’re on the cracked riverbed again. Dirk finds you in less time than you thought, whisking you backstage again with a sense of urgency. His agent gives you an earful but disappears as fast as he can get his words out of his mouth to assault your ears. Dirk sits down next to you, the cheap cushion on the bench creaking slightly under his weight. The sun is setting outside and when Dirk pushes his glasses up into his hair, you’re struck again with how much depth his eyes hold. In this light it looks like his eyes are the same color as the orange dreamsicle margarita you had the first time you met him. You worry your lip as he stares you down. There’s a few moments where you start to doubt your conviction, your feelings even. 

Then he cups your face and kisses you. Your heart swells in your chest. 

“I wish you’d asked me in person, but, yes.” He sighs into your mouth. You kiss him again. 

It looks like you came out of this one with the points stacked on your side. Dirk Strider, celebrity DJ, had the time to sweep you off your feet and make you his. 

From there, you get to spend a little bit more time on the road, getting to know Dirk’s little brother and their gruff but well meaning manager. Most of the time you bounce from location to location at whim, letting Dirk and Dave mix in their free time on the road. Every show you see though, your heart swells with every good feeling in the world like a high. You hope it stays like that forever, but you’re willing to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone involved with the big bang, I'm really grateful that y'all put this on.  
> For the first big fandom project I've been part of, I'm glad it was this one. You guys made it intuitive and inspiring to be a part of. 
> 
> Thank you to [Sofi](https://aslanzounder.tumblr.com/) for the [bangin art](https://64.media.tumblr.com/382a552b4c1eb0de4261fd42b8444d6f/600a8cc5dea5e25e-6c/s1280x1920/8176c250dddc094295c08de1d0ae2aae46016872.png) for this fic and for all the reading and support you gave me through this project! You helped me out majorly and I am so thankful for the amount of effort and detail you put in!
> 
> And thank you everyone for reading!


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